And a burglar who had written a famous book on the
management of children during hot weather sat meekly resting before a
solitary table.
The leader of the Hungarian band was a gypsy who called himself Alfassy
Janos, though he lived on First Avenue, in a flat the door of which
bore this legend: _Jacob Aron_. The rest of the band seemed gypsy. Who
is the _cymbalom_ player? That is not difficult to answer; the programme
gives it.
"There you are, Miss Lora."
She looked. "Oh, what a romantic name! He must be a count at least."
"Lora, dear, gypsies never bear titles," remarked Aunt Lucas,
patronizingly.
"How about the Abbe Liszt?" triumphantly asked her charge.
Aunt Lucas laughed coldly. "Liszt was Hungarian, not Romany. But your
artist with the drumsticks certainly is distinguished-looking. If he
only would not wear that odious scarlet uniform. I wonder why he does
not sit down, like the rest of his colleagues."
Arpad Vihary leaned against the panelled wall, his brow puckered in
boredom, his long black mustaches drooping from sheer discouragement.
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